Nightmare In The Pink Palace
by RainTheBowakaLulu
Summary: Coraline is abused by her parents, but her father is being controlled by her stepmom. Her real mom has been dead.
1. Chapter 1

Nightmare In The Pink Palace

"Why the fuck are you still sleeping, You have chores to do you little bitch, Get the fuck up!"

A rough calloused hand grabbed me by my hair and dragged me down the stairs, I could feel the dark blue strands getting ripped out of my scalp every time I hit another stair. As my head hit the cold wooden floor I didn't dare to look up at my father, knowing it would cause more pain. I lay there on the cold floor curled in in a little ball as my father continued to scream at me. He always called me names, hit me in every way, slaps, punches...he even burned me once when I accidentally overcooked dinner. He suddenly stops yelling when there's a knock on the door. A surge of hope wells up in my chest, the thought of being saved from this hell. But It was a little girl selling girl scout cookies. With that hope crushed I lay there, quietly so I don't cause attention. He bought a box of his favorite, Samoas, then smiled and shut the door. He walked right past me and got my mother. She loved girl scout cookies, I hated them. Her gray eyes flitted over to me, noticing me as if for the first time.

"Why is the little slut just laying there on the floor...shouldn't we punish her?"

"Hmm...Yeah maybe we should do it the real way this time.."

The eerie voice my father had talked in sent shivers down my spine and the cold mischievous look in his eyes told me there would be lots of pain. But I couldn't think of anything he hadn't done. Except for the fact I was still a virgin. I'm glad he left that alone. But what worse pain could there be?

I felt a smaller hand yank me up by my hair, I look up and my eyes meet the cold gray eyes belonging to my mother.

"Get this fucking house cleaned up, we have guests coming tonight." She said that in such a sinister way I couldn't help but flinch.

"Aww look the little bitch is scared."

Her hand came up so fast I didn't have time to react and the blow left a painful stinging sensation and a red mark. She let go of my hair and I nearly fell to the floor. My shaking legs held up and my father tower over me. He grabbed both of my wrists and started squeezing. His death grip lessened slightly as my mom mentioned I needed to hands to clean the house. He leaned his face in towards my neck. Before I had time to understand what was happening his sharp teeth sunk into my neck. A weak cry escaped my lips and my voice was broken over the years of not using it. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my neck. He brought his face away from my neck, only to lick the spot where he had bit. An antagonized moan forced its way out of my throat as his warm tongue brushed over the bite. He left so quickly I fell to my knees. My wrists aching and my neck throbbing. I try to ignore the pain as I stumble around the house cleaning the bathroom. Scrubbing floors, vacuuming carpets, I cleaned until everything was spotless. Bruises formed on my wrists, the dark purple and blue marks standing out against my pale skin. I make my way up the stairs to my room, if you can call it a room. A dusty old attic. An old mattress on the floor and clothes in boxes. I almost make it to my "bed" when I pass out. I barley feel the cold hard floor against my face.

A musty smell fills my nose and I open my eyes only to see darkness. I hear water rushing through pipes, tiny feet scurrying on cold cement. I was in the basement...well in the big unfinished side. The floor was cold cement, brick walls and you could see the insulation in the ceiling. But it was dark now and I tried to see my hand in front of my face to feel rough rope pull against my wrists. My hands were tied behind me and I could barely move them without the rope pressing against the bruises. I carefully felt around with my fingers, I felt the cold metal of a folding chair. I tried to move my legs but only felt the rope holding me back, tied at the ankles and then to the chair. I don't dare make any sound or movements in fear that someone will hear. Panic floods throughout my body, I'm trembling in fear. They could hurt me. I have no way of protecting myself. I close my eyes and go to my happy place. A giant oak tree where I can sit and climb and be happy. I end up falling asleep again. I dream of happiness and warmth and a good family.

"AAAhhhhhhh!" My high pitched scream pierced the cold air as I felt my fingernail get ripped off. The cold pliers in my fathers hand held my bloody fingernail. My index finger throbbed to the beat of my heart, it was horribly mangled and bloody. A tear slipped down my cheek and my father sat there and smiled horrifically. A single bulb hanging by a thin wire provided just enough light that casting dark shadows on my fathers face.


	2. Chapter 2

I sat terrified in that cold metal chair. My finger was dripping blood, a small pattering noise as it hit the floor. My father stared down at me.

"How did that feel my darling?"

He asked in a deep silky voice. I shuddered, remembering the rules I kept my mouth shut. My stepmother held up a small object, the light glinted off it and as she brought I down towards my upturned wrists I realized it was a razor blade.

As my stepmom cut into my wrist over and over again I felt numb, A memory re-surfaced. Before all this, before my parents hit me...life was perfect. Until we moved to the Pink palace. I lost all my friends . At school I had no one, I always fell behind the crowds of people, no one bothered to talk to me. My grades started slipping as did my mind, into a sea of sadness. I began cutting myself..no one noticed. Then I had realized what I was doing to myself and I stopped cutting. And now as my stepmother pressed the blade against my skin I felt that dizzy high relief well up inside me. My fathers eyes widened when he saw my scars but he didn't say anything. His eyes showed a deep sadness, but it was quickly replaced by rage. His face was a mask of calm, that was what scared me the most. He motioned for my stepmother to stop cutting my wrist and he took the razor blade from her hand. 50 cuts dripped blood from my wrist, none of them deep. My father looked up and down my body but not at my eyes. He used the blade to tear my shirt down, exposing my prominent collarbones. He pressed the tip of the blade underneath her left collarbone and swiped it across. I yelled in pain, this cut was deeper than the others, no relief this time. I bit my lip and waited for the slap, wincing. I cautiously opened my eyes and it was dark again. I felt warm, wet, blood drip down my chest. Tears leaked out of my eyes and my wrist tingled and stung from the cuts. My finger was torn up and bloody.


	3. Chapter 3

My vision blurred and I felt more warm blood drip down my chest, staining my old rag of a shirt. I let the darkness surround me as my eyes close. I'm drifting in a sea of darkness. Something is dragging me back to reality. Something's tugging in my chest. Pain. I crack open my eyes and see my father. He's stitching up that cut. A spark of hope ignited my mind, maybe he does care. At least enough to let me live. I fed that spark and it started a flame in my heart. My father finished stitching the cut and leaned back to look at me. I saw a deep sadness in his eyes again. He didn't get angry this time. Walking up the creaky basement stairs he disappeared from my vision. Cupboard doors opened and shut, clinking glasses and silverware. The basement stairs creaked again and I noticed my father holding a plate with filled with the leftovers from their dinner. Grilled cheese sandwiches with ham. My mouth watered at the smell and my stomach ached. They never fed me, I snuck food when I could, from the garbage or off dirty dishes. My hip bones and ribs stuck out, all my bones did. My period went away too. My father set the plate down on a nearby table along with a glass of milk. He said my name gently, as if he was afraid of me.

"Coraline?"

I look up at him and tears are falling down his face. The fire is consuming me. Eating away at all the pain. He whispers.

"I'm so sorry."

He reaches out and I flinch away, he looks hurt. But gently rubs my cheek with his thumb. His gaze drops down my wrists. Reddened flesh littered with cuts, the other scarred, but both bruised and cut from the rope. I look over at the food, my stomach growling. He let out a quiet, oh , and brought the plate toward me.

"Can I feed you?"

I nodded my head, eager to eat. He took a half of the sandwich and brought it toward my mouth. I eagerly ate the food he fed me. Drank the milk. I began to trust my father. He looked so hurt by all of this. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He set the dishes down on a table.

"Can I clean those?"

Referring to the fresh cuts on my wrist. I nodded. He took out a first aid kit and dabbed a cotton swab in hydrogen peroxide and gently dabbed it on the cuts. It stung like hell but I remained quiet. I didn't trust him enough to speak. That was the first thing I learned. I am not allowed to speak. The first thing I was punished and hit for. I noticed how afraid my father was. He wiped the dried blood away with a towel soaked with warm water. He placed band aids on all the cuts and looked satisfied with his handiwork. Digging around in the tool box filled with things they used to inflict pain on me he found a pair of scissors and cut the rope holding me hostage. I breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed on the cold floor. I heard my father gasp and he rushed to pick me up. He carried me up to the attic. As he laid me down on my 'bed' he looked around my room. What few clothes I had were on the floor in old boxes. Spiders skittered around in the corners. I shivered as cold air blew from the vents. Goosebumps erupted all over my body. I heard laughter and talking come from downstairs.

"Friends of your stepmothers."

My father explained trying to hide the panicked look in his eyes. He ran downstairs and came back up with a pillow, thick blankets, a bag of food, a couple bottles of water, and one of his shirts. Tears blurred my vision. I felt happy. I stood up on weak legs and hugged him. He dropped everything and wrapped his strong arms around me. I felt so safe and protected. I started crying tears of happiness and I heard him crying too. I eventually let go and he wiped my tears away. I took the food and water and hid it behind a box. My father turned around and let me have some privacy while I took off my shirt and changed into his. It was really big and smelled good and clean.

"F-father?" My voice was shaky but didn't crack. He turned around.

"You can call me Dad."

"Dad...I love you."

"I love you too my sweet Coraline."


	4. Chapter 4

Coraline laid there in her bed shivering. She was so thin some one would've though she was suffering from anorexia. You could count her ribs. Her hipbones help up her underwear. Her stomach was as flat as possible. She was some people's goals. She had no idea that people were out in the world like that. She only knew how to survive. A burst of laughter came from downstairs followed by a loud thump. Coraline was terrified someone might come up there and see the bandages.

-Downstairs-

Her stepmother had brought over friends of hers. They sat in the basement drinking and smoking weed. The groups of friends consisted of 3 guys. All of them drunk and high they decided to go upstairs and find Coraline's father. He was in his study working on a column in the gardening magazine he works on. The burst burst open and he turned around in surprise. The three guys stood in the doorway laughing. One of them called out, " Hey wanna drink, or a smoke?" And all of them started laughing.

"Actually I don't want anything will you go so I can get my work done."

"Oh he wants to get his work done, well why don't we help him?"

The three guys pushed him down out of his chair and started kicking him and beating him up.

-Upstairs-

Coraline shook in fear, Hearing her father get beaten. She hid in the far corner on her mattress underneath the blankets her father gave her. Footsteps thumped up the stairs. Tears leaked out of Coraline's eyes. Her mother's voice rang out, "Coraline", dragging out her name in a eerie way. Her stepmother walked over to her bed and pulled the blankets off of her. Coraline stayed quiet. Her stepmother looked down at her with hate in her eyes. Slurring when she spoke next.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a daughter, I should get the boys to come up here. I bet they'd have a fun time even with a bitch like you."

Her stepmother paused for a moment and then called out for the boys. Coraline wanted to run away, she didn't want to know what the boys were going to do to her. But she was already weak from her earlier punishment.

Meanwhile, downstairs the boys had stopped beating up her dad and ran up the stairs, tripping on their own feet. Her father had a black eye, a couple teeth missing, and 2 broken ribs. He groaned in pain as he sat up. He slowly made his way to the bathroom and began cleaning him self up. Wiping the blood off his chin, looking at his bruised stomach and knowing he needed to go to the hospital. But he couldn't get them involved. Too much stress comes with court and he would be guilty of abuse too. He patched himself up as best as he could. All of a sudden he heard Coraline's piercing scream.


End file.
